


Budapest: Uneventful

by incendiary1 (trycatpennies)



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, past!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-04
Updated: 2012-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-06 20:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/422948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trycatpennies/pseuds/incendiary1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha and Clint have a different way of relating to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Budapest: Uneventful

**Author's Note:**

> All research is from wikipedia and my own basic knowledge. Any geographical, historical or political errors are oversights, and hopefully don't offend anyone. Thanks to hello_mcee for the beta.

They fall out of order now, in her mind, but Laos is generally where she starts unravelling it, when she does think of it. It started as something else to talk about, something they could relate to, experience together that wasn’t covered in blood, or intrigue or double dealing and debriefing.    
  
The Laotian boy is named Kayesone, he’s about nineteen and speaks broken French. Natasha barely speaks Loa and Clint speaks only English, the mission too short and too last minute for language training. She works with what French she and the boy can trade, and Clint buys the three of them can after can of Beerlao, the only thing the bar they're in serves. A friendly smile, and glances through lowered lashes, and she feels herself get flushed with wanting, Clint’s gaze a mirror of her own.    
  
_She unscrews the silencer and tucks it back in her holster, tossing the gun in the dumpster next to her. She turns, hopping up the chainlink fence to her right, and onto the rooftop, where Clint’s perched, the laser sight on his bow jarring against the soft light of the city. He raises the bow and does a visual sweep of the surrounding area before glancing at her, smiling._   
  
She and Clint take Kaysone to bed, in a small hotel in  Huay Xai. Natasha’s brain runs through the number of Laotian laws they’re breaking, not to mention S.H.I.E.L.D. protocols. But it’s worth it to watch the awe in the boy’s face when Clint kisses him, when the three of them take each other apart, and Natasha can forget about everything else.   
  
-   
  
In Corsica it’s French politics and Italian mafia and a woman twice their age. They have a flight in the afternoon, so they fuck all night, and Clint smokes cigarettes while leaning through the open veranda doors of the woman’s studio apartment, overlooking a garden populated with overgrown mulberry trees. Natasha lets herself be watched, takes glory in it, opens up around Josephine’s fingers, her mouth, and watches Clint toss his cigarette out the window and move in behind Josephine, his hands on her hips--   
  
_ \--” This hasn’t been a problem since 1976, sir, I’m not really sure why we’re dealing with it now.”   
  
“We’re dealing with it because we’re the reason it hasn’t been a problem since 1976, Agent Romanov. Corsican should be easy for you. Take Hawkeye. You two work well together.”   
  
“Sir, I’m--” _   
  
Josephine leaves her apartment before they do, kissing Clint on the forehead and Natasha full on the mouth, muttering something about not kissing those lips being a crime against God. Natasha’s tempted to respond with something about not believing in God but it seems gauche, somehow, in the face of the compliment. She smiles instead, unsteadily. The flight home is long.    
  
-   
  
_ She takes one bullet to the shoulder and Hawkeye’s there in a second, firing one arrow into the building’s window and taking out the marksmen posted fifty feet above them. Natasha barely has time to grab her gun from where she’d dropped it before Hawkeye’s pulling her away.   
  
“We have a mission,” she yells at him, and he turns, gripping her shoulders, checking. It’s the first time he’s-- they’ve stumbled. There’s ‘leave no man behind’ and then there’s stupid sentimentality, and this is bordering on the latter. “We are going back in.” _   
  
Budapest is uneventful; mission completed. Agent Romanov sustained mild injuries.   
  
-   
  
Romania is cold, and too much like Russia. Clint fucks an American tourist girl named Kate and Natasha watches from the foot of the bed, one hand between her legs, her clit pulsing from the orgasm she’s already had, her fingers slick, helping her to a second one. The girl had been glad to find them, a taste of home, of comfort.    
  
_ There was a revolution in Romania, four years after Natasha was born, and she remembers it. She remembers an illegal radio tucked into her mother’s closet in Russia; broadcasting tinny shouts of the people of Romania, cursing the name of a power they thought bigger than them, brought down by rebels and students and people. She remembers it as the first time she heard a gunshot; distorted and twice recorded. She remembers is as the first time she considered another option than the life she’d been given.    
  
Clint blows on his hands, trying to get them warm. They’re standing in the square at Timisoara and Natasha presses her fingers to a building and thanks this place for its chaos, mourns the loss of lives lost in so many different ways.  _   
  
The girl’s battered Romanian phrasebook lies next to the bed. Natasha can’t bring herself to touch her.   
  
-   
  
She sits next to Clint on the infirmary bed and fights to not touch him. His eyes are finally clear, and he’s beautiful, undone in this moment. She’s seen shades of this a thousand times ( _Laos, Thailand, Nairobi, Italy, Alaska, Corsica, Nice, Mexico; countries and cities and capitals_ ) in the way he loses himself, the way they lose themselves in other people.   
  
It seems strange to be here, the closest thing she’s had to home since she was ten, and not just reach out and touch him. But they both know better.   
  
It’s why they’ve only ever shared.


End file.
